Keeping Faith
by GoldenRoya
Summary: Peter Fleming realizes that Dana Faraday may just be his key to capturing the Cape once and for all. Dana will have to choose: to rescue her son, she will have to betray a good man.
1. Ultimatum

_How it _might_ have panned out... Call it Episode 11. No, I don't own _The Cape. _Well, yes I do. The dvd version, anyway. Does that give me rights to it? No? Darn. _

* * *

"Sir, I've been thinking..."

"Never a good trait in a subordinate." The man stopped talking, and Peter rolled his eyes. "Oh, very well, go ahead. What?"

"Sir, the Faraday woman." He stopped again, and it was only with great effort that Peter avoided strangling him.

"If you don't spit it out," Fleming grated, "I will personally see to it that your tongue is removed. Now let's have it." It hadn't been a good day for him, all in all. He had no patience for stuttering subordinates.

The threat had its intended effect. "When the Cape kidnapped Chief Voyt and his wife from the courthouse, the Faraday woman was with him. He took all three. Maybe she knows where he is. I mean, if he took her to his safe house and all... It's a possibility, isn't it, sir? Sir?"

Fleming stared at the man in dumbfounded shock. He felt like banging his head against the nearest wall. It was obvious. Of course it was obvious, if it could occur to a numbskull like...like... Fleming squinted at the man's name tag. "Good thinking, Smith," he said, distractedly. "Or... Smythe. Right. Thank you." He flipped open his phone and spoke into it. "Charlie? Yes. I want you to call the Faraday woman. Yes, the lawyer. I want to meet with her in an hour. Oh, and there are a few things I need you to do in the meantime..."

* * *

Dana Faraday wasn't sure what this was about. Since Marty's confession to her just before his death, she'd tried her best to avoid even thinking about Peter Fleming. Now, here she was, summoned before the man who had caused her husband's death, who had terrorized the city, and who, if Marty was to be believed, was as unbalanced a psychopath as ever existed outside of an old-fashioned insane asylum.

She took refuge in the formality provided by her business suit and the fact that it was still working hours. _I am a professional, and this man needn't scare me._ "You wanted to see me, Mr. Fleming?" she inquired, only a little stiffly after she was ushered into his office.

The thin-faced man looked up from his ledgers, a smile crossing his mouth. "Mrs. Faraday!" he greeted her, "Welcome. Come in, come in. You had a nice ride, I trust?"

She'd been picked up in the company car, not quite a limousine, but definitely several steps above what she usually drove. "I did," she replied. "The car probably cost more than my house."

"Your former home?" Peter Fleming inquired. "Yes, I imagine so. Though probably not as much as the cost of the apartment building where you're living now," he remarked, as-if casually. Dana felt a thrill of fear run down her neck. _He knows where I live? Where I used to live?_

"What do you need from me, Mr. Fleming," she said, making it a statement, not a question. He had all the lawyers he needed; he would have no use for one more. It was tempting to play dumb, but Dana wasn't quite that good at acting. _This man murdered my husband._

Fleming ignored the tone, instead holding out a chair and indicating she should sit. Having no graceful way to decline, Dana sat, if stiffly. She held her purse on her lap, taking some psychological ease from having a barrier between herself and the man who seated himself on the opposite side of the desk, flimsy though that protection was.

"Coffee? Tea?" he offered, then sent his minion off for the drinks without waiting for Dana's reply. The office was suddenly very empty, and Dana felt the hairs on her neck prickling.

Fleming steepled his hands on the desk in front of him, staring at her appraisingly. Dana met that gaze for as long as she could, but the utter creepiness of that dead-level stare made her look away. As she did, Fleming eased back. "I understand you were kidnapped a short time ago," he said, and Dana blinked at him. It was the most unexpected thing he could have started with, and her mind went ratcheting back over her last few weeks. "The Cape," Fleming clarified, and Dana colored. _Ah. Yes, that must have looked like... something else. _Well, if he wanted to play it as a kidnapping and not a rescue, that was his business. _Argues for _him_ being the one who ordered the hit, at least,_ she thought to herself.

"Uh, yes," she murmured. "Fortunately it was only for a short time." Or, more to the point, _un_fortunately. She hadn't felt so protected since Vince was alive. It had been something of a relief to let a competent man take charge, for a little while. Despite her independent nature and the innate strength that many people seemed to think was her birthright as a modern woman, Dana hated the stresses that came with being a single mother in charge of everything. She missed Vince with a longing so intense it almost carried a physical presence. He had always been her anchor, her rock, her lifeline, all of those old cliches that she'd dismissed as petty poetry before she'd realized just how true they were. The Cape... mysterious as he was, he'd been a bit of that to her, just a little. As if she mattered to him. He'd been Vince's friend, as he claimed, so maybe it was just her transferring her feelings for her dead husband onto the first man who reminded her of him. And in any case, the office of the CEO of Ark Corporation was most assuredly _not_ the place to be dissecting her feelings. Dana mentally slapped herself back to the present.

Fleming seemed not to have noticed her short diversion into her own head. "It must have been a terrifying experience for you," he offered, and Dana shrugged.

"Not so much," she demurred. "He wasn't what you might call _criminal_ about it." The slight dig was petty, but Dana felt there was little harm in indulging herself. After all, what could Fleming do?

The CEO tilted his head. "So I'm to understand that he simply let you go? Snatched you off the street only to turn you loose not a day later?" His unsettling eyes bore into Dana's, and she suddenly began to regret the quip. He continued in a low voice. "What hold does he have over you, Mrs. Faraday?" he asked. "Did he threaten you to ensure your silence?"

"What? No!" Dana was shocked into a reply. "He didn't threaten me with anything!"

"Ah." Fleming's voice continued low. "You do realize that he is a criminal, do you not? If you protect him, you could be charged with aiding and abetting. He has killed people, Mrs. Faraday. It is your civic duty to help put a dangerous madman behind bars."

_The only dangerous madman I know is _you, Dana thought, angrily. "I don't know anything," she blurted. "The police - _your_ Ark enforcers - have already debriefed me. You should have access to my full report."

Fleming didn't even bother to glance at his computer, eyes never wavering from Dana's face. "He brought you to his hideout, Mrs. Faraday," he said. "You can tell me details; things that can help us find him. I imagine that you could even, were you so inclined, lead us there."

Dana shook her head. "I was blindfolded," she protested. Falsely, but Fleming wouldn't know that. "The Cape isn't that stupid; I doubt if the place he took us is even close to his headquarters." But it was, and she knew it was, and she knew how to find it, and how she prayed that Fleming wouldn't press any further...

"You seem to be attached to this masked vigilante," Fleming said. "And your son even more so."

Dana's heart froze as Fleming casually turned his laptop around. Trip was on the screen, obviously unaware that he was being watched as he read his favourite comic series. What she could see of the room he occupied was a kid's paradise, with enough toys and technical gadgets to keep even the most hyperactive child occupied for hours.

"The door is locked of course," Fleming said, bringing Dana back into the room where they both sat. "I sincerely wish that you had simply chosen to cooperate. Now, this is going to be much harder." He shut the lid of laptop with a sharp _snap_, cutting off Dana's view of her son.

The distraught mother pulled in a shaky breath. "I... I really can't help you. I don't know anything!" she pleaded, but Fleming shook his head, mock-disappointed.

"Oh, Dana, Dana, Dana," he murmured. "Lies will only get Trip hurt. Killed, even. Such pesky things, doors. They can refuse to open, for one. Keys can be lost so...easily. One little boy can be forgotten for... oh, weeks, if necessary. Though death by dehydration only requires a few days. I wonder when your son had his last drink?" The clock on the wall seemed to get louder. _Tick...tick...tick..._

"You leave my son out of this!" Dana cried, her voice cracking as she tried for control.

Fleming _tsk_'ed at her. "I'm not the one who brought him into it. The Cape did that all by himself. He brought _you_ into it as well, if you think about it that way. Say, I have an idea. I'll make you a trade, one for one. You bring me the Cape, and I'll give you your son back. I'll even let him have a drink before he goes." Fleming grinned with half of his mouth, baring one side of his teeth, and Dana shook. With fear, with rage, she didn't know.

"Don't you dare touch my son!"

The CEO shook his head. "Dana, now you're just being obtuse. You bring me the Cape, you get your son back, right as rain. Understood? Now. Off with you." He made little shooing motions. "My secretary has all the details about when and where we'll expect to meet you for the exchange. Goodbye, Mrs. Faraday." He smiled. "It's been nice doing business with you."


	2. Betrayal

_Nope, still don't own. Slightly messing with canon here, but I hope you can forgive. I figure shows do it all the time without explanation; call it 'artistic license.' Does that make it okay? Thanks, wtchcool, for your review! _

* * *

It was a shocked and stumbling Dana Faraday that emerged from the sleek Ark vehicle that stopped in front of the DA's office. The blonde woman clutched a sheet of paper so hard it was crumpling. Six hours. She had six hours to find the Cape and lure him into a trap. Trip would be fine. He couldn't die of starvation in six hours. Of boredom, maybe, but not of neglect. All Dana had to do was go to the man who had saved her life and looked out for her son and betray him to his capture, revelation, and almost certainly his death.

_I can't think about that. Trip is more important._

Some small part of Dana's brain was still working, however. _Fleming doesn't know about Orwell,_ she thought. _Or Max. _She wouldn't lead Ark to them if she could help it. _If I have to sacrifice someone, it will be as few someones as I can make it. _She drove home first, to shower, change, and switch her cell phone for the clean one that Orwell had thoughtfully left behind when she'd left, the first and only time she had seen the young woman. If Fleming had had her bugged, or tracked, or anything of that sort, she was determined to get it off before setting out to find the Cape. Halfway through, her preparations struck her as slightly ridiculous. _What am I now, a spy? __On the other hand... I'm rescuing my kidnapped child by bringing a villain a caped superhero. _She had to laugh, bitterly, at the situation. _Dorothy, we are not in Kansas anymore._

She drove out to Trolley Park, but the grounds were deserted. Dana felt her gut clench. What if she couldn't find him? Would Fleming really let Trip die just because Dana couldn't find the Cape? Surely he could be reasonable; it wouldn't be her fault if she couldn't find the vigilante-superhero. All of Ark's enforcers put together hadn't been able to manage it; what did he expect of her?

_Everything._

Fleming wasn't quite sane. What had Marty said? He'd stapled a Chess mask to her husband's head and then sent him off like a deer among wolves, to be gunned down without a chance. Would he kill Trip if Dana didn't come through?

_Yes._

Dana set out into the maze of abandoned buildings, shacks, and assorted large debris. It was a maze, and three turnings in, she was utterly lost. Doggedly, she kept searching, looking for a landmark, any landmark that might look familiar. But between the adrenaline, gunshots, and the utter terror that had pursued her that day, and the confusing nature of the carnival grounds themselves, she couldn't be sure about any of it. It was a house of mirrors writ large-scale. Finally, Dana stopped, staring at her watch. Four of her precious six hours had passed.

What would happen if she couldn't find the Cape in time for this rendezvous? Would Fleming grant her an extension? More to the point, would he grant _Trip_ an extension? Would he at least allow her boy to be fed; or would her son starve until she succeeded? Frustration boiled up in her and Dana screamed, "Cape! Cape, I need you, Cape!"

"You called?"

The voice at her back made her whirl with a shout, fists raised. The masked figure behind her raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, easy."

Dana's frustration found a new way to vent itself. "Never tell me you were watching me this whole time!" she demanded angrily, before she could stop herself. _No, don't yell, you need him._ If he got mad and left, vanished in a puff of smoke...!

But the figure, rather than getting angry, looked chagrined. _How can a featureless mask look _chagrined? "I'm sorry," he said in that curiously husky voice of his. "But I had to make sure you were alone."

They stood staring at one another for a long moment, before the Cape asked, "Why did you come here?"

Dana felt a genuine quaver in her voice. She'd decided to keep her story as close to the truth as she could, to lend plausibility and to reduce the chance of slipping up. "It's my son, Trip," she said, and swallowed hard. "Fleming took him."

"What?!" The Cape went from casual-tense to straight-up rigid. He grabbed her by the upper arms, staring into her eyes with an intensity that burned. It was the first time he'd ever looked at her straight on, Dana realized. "When? How?"

"I...I know where he is," she said in a shaking voice, "but I can't get to him on my own. I need your help."

She'd thought she would have to beg, to plead. Probably not very much, but a little, at least. Instead, the only pleading she had to do was to beg him to slow down as he dragged her through the maze she'd just tortuously navigated, his long legs eating up the dusty ground as he led her to the parking lot.

Dana was taken aback when she realized that the Cape intended to get to the meeting place in her car. "Don't you have a, I don't know, Cape-mobile or something?" she asked as she unlocked her doors. The masked vigilante didn't reply as he plucked the keys from her fingers and slid into the driver's seat. Dana climbed into the passenger side before he could protest, and he wisely didn't say a thing. She vaguely wondered what her expression was, that he didn't object as he turned the ignition and put the car into drive.

"Don't you think you're a little conspicuous?" she asked, staring at the mask and hood he still wore. In answer, he flipped up the center console, pulled out Vince's old ball cap and stuck it on his head over the hood. Close-up, the effect was ridiculous, but the silhouette probably looked close enough to normal that it would make little difference. Fortunately, the shadows of evening made it hard for other drivers to see inside the car, and Dana figured that would have to be enough. He kept his head slightly averted from her, as was his habit.

Their destination was twenty minutes away; thirty, if traffic didn't cooperate. They would be just in time. Dana didn't know if she ought to feel relieved or disappointed. _Trip. Think of Trip._

"You took a chance, coming to get me the way you did." The Cape's voice was loud in the silence. "Thank you."

"No. Don't thank me." Dana didn't think she could take it if he thanked her for this. "I'm just a mother who is wildly worried about her son."

The Cape wouldn't meet her eyes. "And so I thank you for trusting me enough to save him. I'm not sure I could trust another person to save _my_ son."

The wash of guilt stole her breath. "...you have a son?" she whispered, and the Cape averted his eyes, taking a great deal of interest in the side view mirror.

"I'd do anything for him," he said at last, and flipped on the radio, effectively ending the conversation. He switched between stations until he found one that was evidently to his liking. The song was one that Vince had liked, and Dana felt herself near to tears at the memory.

_What would Vince have done? _If _he'd_ been asked to betray a good man, her husband would have refused point-blank. It wasn't in his character to deceive anybody, and he would never leave a man behind. What would Vince say if he could see her now, casually driving a man to his almost certain death?

_He'd be ashamed of me._ She knew it. _But Trip...!_ He'd have figured out another way. He would have. Vince would never have let another man walk into a trap if Vince could possibly have warned him.

_But I'm not Vince!_ she wailed to herself. _I'm not as strong as he is. I can't risk Trip, not for anything. Not even for him._ Who she meant by 'him,' Dana did not know. And she did not know if she spoke the truth to herself, or lies.

From the corner of her eye, she watched the man who was currently driving her car. She didn't want to, but she couldn't help herself. The hints he'd dropped about his past, his family... he wasn't just a mask and a cape. She shied from thinking those thoughts, but like a scab over a painful wound, she kept circling back to pick at them. What would motivate a man to leave his family and play superhero? What could his motivations possibly be? Perhaps he just didn't care about them. Perhaps he was just selfish, to save the world and let his family go hang. Yes. That had to be the answer. Dana latched on to that thought and clung to it. Such a selfish man deserved to die. His widow would thank her for it, surely, her faithless husband getting what he deserved. But he was in her car, driving to save a boy he barely knew, for a woman he had met only twice before. Were those the actions of a selfish man?

Dana banished the thought and her tears as they pulled into the parking lot of the big, now empty, office building that stood at the address that she'd been given. As the Cape put the car into park, Dana reached out and rested her hand on his, an impulse. The leather glove was a smooth cover over taut muscles and tendons. A strong hand. The Cape froze under her touch.

"...thank you," she said, and her voice came out in a choked whisper. The Cape flashed her a reassuring smile, and her heart nearly stopped, his smile was so much like Vince's. Her hand squeezed tight on his.

"...wait," she whispered, and he stopped. Squeezing her eyes shut, she stammered, "I have something to tell you, but promise me that you'll still go inside. For my son. For Trip."

There was a long moment of silence before his voice answered, "I promise. What...?"

Still with her eyes closed, face contorted with agony, Dana whispered, "It's a trap. Fleming made me bring you here, now. It's not a rescue; it's a hostage exchange."

The hand disappeared from under hers, and Dana opened her eyes in horror. What had she just done...?


	3. Revelations

_Still don't own. Rats. So, yeah. I'm firmly Dance (Dana/Vince), and this ought to help explain why. Partly inspired by the many versions of "The Polar Bear King" that I've read. If you don't know the tale, look it up and read it. It's fascinating.  
Thanks, IronAmerica and wtchcool for your reviews! I'm a total review junkie, and even if I don't respond individually, please know that I really appreciate them! (Also, I try to have chapter n+1 pretty much finished before posting chapter n, so I don't want to accidentally drop any spoilers!) :)_

* * *

Dana whispered, "It's a trap. Fleming made me bring you here, now. It's not a rescue; it's a hostage exchange."

The hand disappeared from under hers, and Dana opened her eyes in horror. What had she just done...?

The Cape was looking at her, the parts of his face that she could see unreadable. But his hand was tender as he took hers and held it. "I kind of figured that," he said at last. "But thank you for telling me. Now let's go get Trip."

He exited the car before Dana could even react. _He knew? And he came anyway? He's willing to sacrifice himself for my son? _Her throat constricted. In another life, another situation, she could have fallen in love with this man, whose face she didn't even know.

She forced her tears back and climbed out of the car. The Cape locked it behind them as they walked, together, to the entrance of the building. Grime covered the front, a coat of dust so thick it could be more properly classed as dirt inhibiting the view of the inside through the windows. Vandals had decorated the building's facade with spray paint, mostly, but some of them had evidently preferred the washable kind and merely scrawled in the dust. Dana hoped that Trip hadn't seen the words; some of them were too foul to bear repeating. The Cape paused to study one group of figures, but then merely shook his head and continued on.

He held the door open for her and, somehow, she found her hand in his as she led the way through the corridors, lit only by dim and flickering nighttime lights that were barely adequate to read the directions on her printout. It felt eerily like wandering through tunnels, and Dana squeezed the masked man's hand harder as pictures of giant ants and termites swam through her head. "I think we're headed to see the queen," she quipped, nervously, then realized how out-of context that sounded.

The Cape squeezed her hand back. "I was just thinking the same thing," he told her in a quiet voice. "Only I don't think termites are nearly as well armed as the Ark swarm."

Dana laughed aloud, and quickly stifled it. She heard a huff behind her that might have been a laugh if it had been allowed to grow up, and marveled that two people in their situation could find something to laugh about. "Cape?" she said, suddenly. "What's your real name?" It was a delaying tactic. God, what was wrong with her? Her son was waiting! All that stood between him and her was... well. Was her betrayal. And she could only hope to put that moment off for as long as she could. Would she even be able to look at herself in a mirror after this?

The Cape, for his part, had stopped. The shadows hid even the parts of his face that could normally be seen, and it was from blackness that he spoke. "I can't tell you that yet," he said. And then, "But if you trust me... I'll tell you someday."

She stared at him in astonishment. She hadn't really expected an answer. She certainly hadn't expected _that_ answer. And then he turned to face her fully. The shadows still cloaked him, but somehow his posture seemed more open than it ever had before as he asked, "Dana. Will you help me?"

* * *

They took the final turns and practically staggered out into a broad, high-ceilinged room, a cafeteria dining room by the look of it. The chairs and tables were mostly missing, a few lonely specimens shoved up against the walls. In the center of the room, a concrete fountain stood, long disused and dry. Plywood sheets acted as a cover over the basin, and someone had, incongruously, placed an old burgundy wing-back chair atop it. The Cape snorted. "Looks like we're about to meet the queen termite," he quipped, and Dana had to admit that the scene appeared unmistakably like a throne on a dais.

The silence was palpable as they walked into the room. Dana crumpled up her map, made useless now that they were at its end, and dropped it onto the dust-caked floor. The ball crackled as it bounced, fetching up beside the fountain.

And that was when the walls exploded.

Ark soldiers poured out into the room, surrounding them. The Cape shoved Dana behind him, spreading his arms wide in a hopeless bid to protect her. He got in three punches and a single fling of his cape before they got him down, kicking and pummeling him. Dana shrieked in her alarm, and then shrieked louder as she felt arms close about her elbows.

"This way, Mrs. Faraday." The voice was Peter Fleming's, and he pulled her away from the scene, up to the accidental dais. Which didn't look so accidental, especially when Fleming sprawled in the chair, king in his own castle.

"I did what you asked," she said, shakily. "I brought you the Cape. Now where is my son?"

Fleming _tsk_'d at her. "Please, my dear, let me enjoy my moment of triumph. This man has been a regular thorn in my side for months now. I owe you quite a debt for bringing him to me."

"Give me back my son and I'll call it quits," Dana grated through clenched teeth. She'd lost Vince. She wouldn't lose Trip, not to the selfsame maniac.

Peter Fleming rolled his eyes and sighed. "Oh, very well. You are absolutely no fun, do you know that? Bring the boy!" he called over the heads of his soldiers, who had forced the Cape to the ground and were taking the opportunity to make sure he would be in too much pain to get up anytime in the near future. Dana knew that the masked man wore armor, but even so, that had to hurt.

A shout wrenched her eyes from the man on the ground to the red-shirted boy being hauled into the open space. "Trip!" she yelled back, and would have run to him except that Fleming grabbed her by her elbow.

"Now, now, manners," he warned. He couldn't know how close he came to getting a fist in the face for that, forestalled only by the fact that Trip was running to her and she needed her arms free to grab him up in a fierce hug.

Her son squeezed her tight around the waist. Over his head, her gaze caught that of the Cape, watching them with hunger in his eyes. _Thank you_, she mouthed to him, and he sent her a return smile, wiped out by an Ark soldier with a particularly vicious kick to the kidneys.

"Enough," declared Fleming, waving his hand like a conjuror. All motion in the hall stilled. Fleming beckoned. "Bring the prisoner to me," he said.

A pair of Ark enforcers hauled the Cape upright and dragged him forward, forcing him to his knees on the edge of the dais. At some point during the brawl, his hands had been zip-tied together behind his back, stretching his shoulders cruelly and trapping his deadly cape. His hood had fallen back, revealing dark, mussed hair. The dimness made it impossible to see what color it actually was, only a sort of washed-out brown shone through.

Fleming pushed himself to his feet. Casual gracefulness gone, he stalked to his prisoner. "At last," he said. "I have you, Cape."

The Cape spat blood from a lacerated lip, staring up in fury at his enemy. "Nice to see you again, Chess," he growled. "And I thought you couldn't sink any lower. Kidnapping a _child_ just to get to me? Pathetic."

"Whatever works," Fleming replied. "And you must admit, it worked wonders. Dana practically tripped all over herself to get you here." He stepped over to her, stroking a lock of her hair between his fingers. She turned from him, feeling disgust, and met Trip's betrayed gaze staring up at her. _Oh. Oh, God, what does he think of me?_. "I really must use her again," Fleming continued, "now that I know how to gain her compliance. Her competence is really quite amazing. A match for the omniscient Orwell is Watching, if anyone is." The smile he shot her sent a spear of ice straight up her spine. _Oh, God, what in all the seven heavens have I gotten myself into?_

A growl from the Cape brought Fleming's attention back to him and away from Dana. The blonde woman let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding and suppressed a shudder.

"All right. Enough chatter. It's time to find out who you are."

The Cape jerked back from Fleming's grasping fingers, but he couldn't get far enough. Fleming's fingertips found the loosest bits, to either side of the man's nose, and pulled up. Dana flinched, fearing that Fleming had put his fingers into the man's eyes, but, hearing no scream, figured that the man had had a narrow miss. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she stared towards the Cape, but Fleming's back was in her way and she couldn't see around him.

There was a moment of silence. "You look familiar," said Fleming after a beat. "Do I know you?"

"You should." Dana felt her face pale as the Cape spoke in a clear voice, the first time she had ever heard him speak so, without the affected deep growl. _Oh dear God... _"You put my first mask on me; a Chess mask. You don't know me?" He was starting to shout, pulling himself to his feet. " You don't know me? I'm Vince Faraday!

"Dana, now!" he yelled at her, and she blinked away her shock. Keeping a tight grip on Trip, she stepped off of the dais, smashing her heel down hard on the crinkled map she had thrown so casually away... and ruptured the smoke capsule that was tucked inside.

Darkness enveloped them all.


	4. Rescue

_Mmm...nope, still don't own. Darn. Call this the end of Episode 11, Episode 12 to commence as soon as I figure out what happens next. Darn it, I knew it wasn't going to end this easily! Edit: Thanks, wtchcool, for pointing out my spelling error. (I really, really ought to have someone besides me doing the beta'ing...)_

* * *

As the smokey dark enveloped Dana, she felt rather than saw Vince - _her Vince, alive! _- barrel past a startled Fleming to her and her son. She grabbed hold of him like he'd instructed her, holding tight to Trip. She'd done a disappearing act with the Cape once before, but that experience was nothing like this one; a whirlwind of jerking motion, the certain knowledge that at some point she had been airborne, and her arms aching like nothing else as she clung to her two men. The Cape - Vince! - must have gotten out of the zip ties, because she felt his arm around her, holding her tight as they vanished out of the gym.

Max Malini's arm supported her elbow as their forward motion suddenly ceased. "It's nice to meet you again, Mrs. Faraday," he greeted her in a low voice. "And you too, young man." He smiled at Trip. "I implore you both to keep your voices down; we're not quite in the clear."

Nowhere remotely like it, it seemed. Dana could hear shocked exclamations from the Ark enforcers, and Fleming bellowing his rage and promising the moon to anyone who could recapture them. The voices were muffled and somehow _underneath_ her.

"Where are we?" she whispered as loud as she dared, looking around at a dim, almost alien world of pipes and wires and boxy silver things that her eye eventually distinguished as ducts.

"In the ceiling." Vince's breath tickled her ear as he hugged her from behind, supporting her. His scent surrounded her, and she let herself feel safe in his arms. He anticipated her question and said, "Max got into your car back at Trolley Park - _without telling me,_" this seemed to be aimed at the black man, who shrugged unrepentantly, "and evidently figured he would be on hand if he was needed."

"Which I was," Max interjected. "I'm glad you saw the signs."

Vince snorted quietly. "'Kozmo' is a little hard to miss, don't you think?" and Dana vaguely recollected having seen the word amongst the graffiti on the door. "When you set off the smoke bomb, Dana, all we had to do was grab the grappling hook and hold on."

Dana was about to ask, what grappling hook, but spotted it before she had to. More of a grappling anchor, it was hooked around one of the pipes overhead, with a long steel cable attached to it. The cable ran through a motor, which was evidently the reason they'd been pulled up so fast. A dark man and a leggy blonde crouched below it on the planks rigged between joists, what passed for their floor, holding a ceiling tile in place. The blonde waved her fingers and blew Dana a kiss. Unless the kiss was for Vince, in which case Dana was going to have to mar the other woman's beauty a bit. She leaned back into her husband a little bit more and felt him squeeze her a little bit harder. She was going to be furious with him... but not just yet, she decided. Trip had wandered off and was laying flat beside a small man, watching the scene below through a pinhole. The mechanized grappling hook wasn't the only machine up here in the attic, however. Dana's eyes flicked over half a dozen lumps that, when she squinted, resolved themselves into cameras, all aimed down through the floor. She would bet her yearly salary that they were all aimed straight at the dais. Vince's friends had been busy, it seemed.

The lawyer smiled at the big black man. "Thank you, Max," she murmured, and the magician nodded back at her, acknowledging her remark on all of its intended levels.

The little man beside Trip stood up. "That's it, let's go," he said. "Maximum noise for maximum cover." The three strangers, Max, and Vince worked together almost seamlessly and had all evidence of their sojourn in the ceiling noiselessly erased within minutes, escorting Dana and Trip along with an ease that belied both the danger and the difficulty of moving over a "floor" that, if stepped on wrong, would send them plunging into the middle of the Ark swarm thirty feet below. The others had to be circus folk, Dana had to swear. The woman especially; she made graceful leaps from beam to beam, balancing on one leg as often as not, and seemingly oblivious of the danger. It made Dana frankly jealous.

Until the coast was clear, they lingered in a maintenance area, a small room made smaller by the fact that there were seven people in it who weren't allowed to talk. Once again, Dana found her hand in the Cape's, and she held onto Vince as if he might be torn from her again if she ever let go.

Trip, on the other hand, wasn't looking at either of his parents. The small man whom Vince had briefly introduced as Rollo and the other man, called Ruvi, held the boy in thrall, demonstrating tricks and slight-of-hand before his astonished eyes. Raia, the woman, was a distracting presence in the corner of the room, doing stretches and various limbering moves that had Dana squirming. Were these the people that Vince had lived with all those months? It seemed so. She stole a sideways glance at her husband to see if he was watching the flexible circus woman, only to find that he was staring at her, hunger in his eyes. Dana smiled to herself.

_What?_ Vince's expression asked, and Dana replied with a smile and a squeeze that said, _I'm glad you're back. _Vince squeezed back a promise, or what felt like a promise. Dana decided to take it as such and snuggled against his side. Her husband put his arm around her and she settled against him in the place that always felt like it had been created just for her.

Now that she had a few minutes to just think, for the first time since Fleming had first summoned her to his office, Dana found that she didn't know _what_ to think. The small woman at the back of her brain kept fist pumping the air, screaming _Vince is alive, he's alive!_ And another small woman kept trying to strangle the annoying bitch, screaming _That means he deliberately let you think he was dead, you idiot! _Dana did her best to ignore them both, but their argument wasn't being drowned out as easily as she hoped.

_My God. I almost got Vince killed. _Dana mentally glared at the third little woman in her subconscious, but that one wasn't going to be ignored.

What did that say about her character, that she would willingly trade the life of one person for another? _It was for Trip. What kind of mother would I be if I didn't? __What kind of person does that make me?_

_A human one._

Vince had said as much, back at the parking lot. Dana deconstructed the timeline in her mind: the Cape hadn't known Max was on the grounds until after they'd seen the graffiti. That meant that his capture - for keeps, not just the five minute binding he'd endured - was all but certain. And he'd made the decision to rescue Trip anyway.

_He'd do anything for his son. _If Dana hadn't already loved him, she would love him all the more for that. She'd chosen the right father for her baby.

_If he'd do anything for Trip and me, why didn't he come back? _The second little woman fought her way to the forefront and demanded Dana's attention. Dana remembered vividly the first weeks after the explosion. Every night, several times a night, Trip would sit straight up, screaming. After the first two nights, Dana had moved into Trip's room, so that she could soothe him back to sleep afterwards, only to be awakened by his screams a couple of hours later. She remembered all the times she'd curled up around Vince's photograph, clutching his clothing to her face so that she could breathe in the last, fading scent of him, and sobbing silently so that Trip wouldn't hear, and knowing that he probably did. _He could have at least _told _us he was alive. He didn't have to pretend! He didn't have to lie to us!_

Only... Only. If Dana had known Vince was alive, was without-a-doubt innocent, would she have been able to play the grieving widow of a media-convicted terrorist? Would she have been able to take the slights, the whispered mutters and the outright slurs on his name? She and Trip had moved out of their house, not only because she'd found the payments impossible on one income alone, but to get away from the cold glares of their neighbors. Could she have borne any of it if she'd known he was alive?

Part of her screamed that, of course she could have, if she'd only known...! But practical Dana knew better. No, she wouldn't have. And, knowing, she would have betrayed herself and Vince somehow. Fleming had only grabbed Trip because the Cape had rescued her. If he'd had any notion of who she _actually_ was to the hated vigilante, she and Trip would have been snatched much sooner. Dana smacked the voice in her head down. Vince had been _smart_ to keep himself from them. Well, as much as he could, anyway. The Cape had been making regular visits to Trip, she remembered. Gods. Their separation had to have been just as hard on him as it was on her; harder, maybe. She'd had Trip, after all. Who had Vince had?

A tear slid down her cheek. Most men in Vince's situation would probably have left town, tried to set up a life somewhere else. Her husband? He'd wanted so badly to stay in their lives, he'd brought a comic book character to life. Policeman-Vince wouldn't have been able to pull off a quarter of what Cape-Vince had done. And he'd done it for them. Oh, sure, he probably loved being the hero; he always had. But to be the Cape? That took some single-minded devotion. Or some good old-fashioned Faraday stubbornness.

Speaking of Faraday stubbornness... Her eyes rested on Trip, whose back was resolutely towards his parents. Come to think of it, he'd avoided looking at either of them since the rescue. _Oh, Trip..._ This was going to be so fun to have to explain to him. Especially when, if Dana were being honest with herself, she hadn't quite logicked herself into completely forgiving her husband for his deception. Emotional Dana still felt betrayed, and nothing that Logical Dana could say was going to make that hurt go away any time soon, she realized. She heaved a sigh. It had hurt more when she'd believed Vince was dead, but it had been so much simpler, too. She imagined going into a bookstore and looking for a self-help book: _My Husband Isn't Dead, He's a Superhero; How a Family is Supposed to Deal With It._ Right.

And then something clicked in her mind and she felt the smile slip from her face. Oh. God. Her life as she'd known it was over. She couldn't go back, nor could Trip. Now that Fleming knew who Vince was, she'd never be safe again. Nor would her friends, or her parents, or...

Vince must have felt her tense because he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "What is it?" he murmured into her ear, barely a breath.

"My parents," she whispered back. "Vince, what if Fleming...?" She tried to sit up, but boot steps in the hallway outside their hideaway made her freeze. There was no door on that side, Max had assured them that the only way in was the way they had come, via the ceiling, but everyone held their breaths until the sounds had passed.

"We'll figure something out," he breathed into her ear once the coast was clear. "Fleming is going down. No one endangers my family and gets away with it."

Somehow, it was the most reassuring thing he could have said. Dana settled back in his arms, and smiled. Life had just gotten infinitely more complicated, but with Vince here, it was going to be okay.

* * *

Getting out of the abandoned office building was surprisingly easy, when it finally came time. They simply carried the video and escape equipment out the back when the Ark vehicles had finished loading in the front. A spitting-mad Fleming had driven off in a huff, frustrated by his minions' failure to find the Faradays. With regret, Dana abandoned her car in favor of the carnival folks' dark blue van; there would be no going back to her normal life now. Trip didn't even get to keep anything that wasn't in his school bags. Fortunately for his education, he'd been carrying several of his textbooks. Dana was pretty sure she knew how Trip would feel about _that_ when he finally realized what it meant. _Oh joy. Yet another fun conversation coming up. And home school. Yay._

Vince squeezed her hand as he helped her up into the van, and one of the dozens of knots in Dana's belly unfurled a bit. She wasn't alone anymore. No matter how hard this was going to be, she wasn't alone. Despite how dark it was in the back of the van, Dana could have sworn it was bright as day.


	5. Orwell is Watching

_So some fella came and dropped a huge chunk of wood on my desk, so big I couldn't budge it to get to my notebook and pencils underneath. Now that's what I call writer's block...  
Okay, lame jokes aside, sorry for the long delay, y'all! Dana and I have been hashing out ideas for the next few chapters, and I think everyone's going to be pleased. Well, not Dana, but she's a pushy dame and I was getting quite annoyed with her. Payback's a bitch, ain't it? *sigh* And how sad is it that I feel the need to take revenge on my own fictional creations...?_

* * *

Orwell wasn't having a good day. Even though she knew it wasn't real, the Door constantly dogged her, dodging in and out of the corner of her eye. She resolutely ignored it, but the effort made her snappish and inclined to grumble. _Like Dad,_ she thought, and then shoved the memories away. No. She would not think about her father. Orwell had no father; _that_ was Jaime, and Jaime had no place in Orwell's world.

_It's not Orwell that's going crazy, though, is it?_ the door seemed to whisper.

"Shut up," she said aloud. "You are just a construct of my imagination, and inanimate objects don't have voices."

_You're talking to yourself._

"Plenty of people do. Leave me alone."

_Never, Jaime. You will never be alone again. Just walk through the door, and see all the wonders behind it. _When Orwell refused to answer, the voice chuckled. _It's alright; I can wait. I have all the time in the world; your whole life, in fact. How long can you withstand temptation?_

The buzzing of her phone precluded the need to answer, and Orwell jumped on it in relief. It was Vince's number. Thank God; he'd give her something else to think about._ Like a wedding... _"Shut up."

She thumbed the screen and answered, "Hey, what's up?" He'd give her something to do. Maybe something for just the two of them to do, together...

"I think we've got the answer to our Ark problem."

Or it could be that.

"What, you've found Noah?" she joked, and she heard Vince smile on the other end. She grinned in response, not that he could see.

"Actually..." But Vince's tone was serious. Orwell's smile slid off her face; something was very, very wrong. "He kidnapped my son."

"Oh my God." Her mind ratcheted over several possible responses from How did that happen, to Where are you now, and finishing up with, "How does that solve our Ark problem?"

"He as much as admitted he was Chess when I traded myself for Trip - he's fine, by the way, don't worry. But we got video of the hostage exchange. It's pretty damning footage, and Raia got several close-ups of his face. Fleming is going down."

Orwell sucked in her breath. "Vince, this is fantastic news!" she cheered, even as there was a slight thrill in her belly. _Is this it? Is Dad going down? _But the hesitation on the other end of the line spoke volumes to her. "Vince? What aren't you telling me?"

A cough, a clearing of a throat. Then, "I couldn't get out of the bindings in time," he admitted. "Fleming pulled my mask. He knows who I am. And," he added before Orwell could start to think along dangerous lines, "Dana was there too." His voice got dim, as though his face was turned away from the mouthpiece. "Is here, now, that is." Orwell got another impression of a smile, and this time, it was not directed at her. "We're on our way back to the Park. I think this could be the biggest coup of Orwell Is Watching's history."

"Yeah," Orwell agreed, faintly. "I'll meet you there," she said, and hung up mechanically.

_I never even had a chance with him,_ she reminded herself. _I should have left teenage crushes behind with my teenage years. _She could hold out hope that Dana would make a fuss about Vince's career in the last year, could cross her fingers that the year apart would have made husband and wife strangers to one another. But if that smile that she'd heard was for Dana, if his wife wanted to make another go of it... _I never even had a chance,_ she told herself, firmly. Her fantasy was just that, a fantasy. Her heart would just have to take her head's word for it, and her eyes could stop being damp, thank you very much.

Her eye drifted to the door... and her jaw clenched. _No. You will not have me today. Not today, not ever._

* * *

It felt like a party when Orwell stepped out into the Big Top. The exuberant extroverts were tumbling and cavorting, celebrating like mad. Vince was out of his cape and armor, and his mask was nowhere to be seen. The smile that lit his face was like nothing Orwell had ever seen there before, and her heart clenched. _Oh. So that's what he looks like when he's happy._ And the person his eyes rested on as he wore that look of relief and love and absolute cherishment... was not Jaime. Dana had a blitzed look in her eyes too, every time she looked at her restored husband. Orwell did what she did best: she watched. It was obvious to her that Dana had a few misgivings, but it was equally obvious that Vince had nothing to fear; his wife wanted him, wanted him back. Love like that... what was a few lies compared to that?

Trip was the interesting variable. He ignored his parents so studiously that Orwell knew he was completely tuned into them, so that he would never accidentally look in their direction. _That is one ticked-off little kid._ Even Raia's antics couldn't completely distract him from his determined disgruntlement, though he smiled and laughed with the blonde acrobat.

"Orwell!" Vince had spotted her, and she stepped out of the shadows. She couldn't smile, though she did her best.

"It's good to see you again, Dana," she said, offering her hand, "Though I regret the circumstances."

Dana smiled at her as they shook. "I don't," she replied. "I'm glad to know that my husband has had such good friends watching out for him." Was it just in Orwell's imagination that Dana put a slight emphasis on the words 'husband' and 'friends'? Vince didn't seem to notice...

Orwell chose to nod and said, "The Cape is the hero that Palm City needed most. I'm just glad to be able to do my part."

Max chose that moment to come over to the trio, his booming voice and big personality overshadowing them. "Vince! Ruvi tells me that the canapes are a must-try. Do me a favor and go rescue a few before Rollo makes off with them all, will you?" He shunted the Cape off towards the buffet table with a little push. "And Dana," he said with a grin, "your husband eats like a horse. Go along with him and save a few for me, will you?" The lawyer gave the big circus man a genuine smile, following Vince willingly.

"And Orwell, if you'll come with me..." Max placed his large hand on the small of her back and guided her away from the bustle of noise and activity that was the center tent.

"You can't kill Dana just because she got there first," he murmured as they left the lights and sounds and exited into the chilly silence of the night. The shadows stretched above their heads, and far, far overhead, a few stars were visible in the jagged crack of sky allowed by the dilapidated buildings around them. Orwell shivered in spite of herself, and suddenly found a heavy drape of material slung over her shoulders. Max, now bare-shouldered, gave her a grin that showed white in the darkness. Orwell smiled back and drew the cloak-like coat further around herself, glad of the warmth.

"I know," she finally said, replying to Max's first comment. "And I know I never had a chance with him. But..."

"But you hoped." There was so much empathy in his voice that Orwell had to swallow back the tears that she didn't know had been gathering. "It's hard to hope, knowing that there is no hope. Harder still when those hopes are dashed. But better that than gradually losing hope altogether, stealing time from other hopes."

He wasn't looking at her, busying himself with a door that Orwell knew perfectly well was not locked. She was trying to figure out a reply when he turned the knob and popped the door open, inviting her to enter first.

Ah. The control room. Orwell's own private paradise on the Trolley Park grounds. She ran her hand over the big forty-two inch monitor by the door; it was a combination of habit, superstitious good-luck gesture, and surreptitious reassurance of belonging. Whatever it was, it helped settle her and she slid into her swivel chair with a calmer heart. "Alright. Let's see what we've got." She loaded the video footage Max silently handed her and started to watch.

She couldn't help but notice Max's looming presence at her back; she couldn't help but be grateful for his gentle hand on her shoulder when Ark soldiers surrounded Vince and started to beat him. _She _knew he came out of it alright, that his protective armoring meant that he hadn't felt half the force of the blows directed at him, but still... She looked away. Orwell couldn't watch this, not yet.

Max squeezed her shoulder lightly. "You have a gentle heart," he murmured, so softly that she could almost believe she imagined it. "Treasure that." His strength lent strength to her and she looked back at the vid.

Just in time to see her father emerge from the shadows and take Dana - Mrs. Faraday - up to his throne.

Her body tensed. She knew it, and she knew that Max had to have felt it, and Orwell knew that no matter what name she called herself, she was still Jaime Fleming underneath it all, and Peter Fleming would always have the power to captivate his little girl.

He was older than the last time she'd seen him, though he had avoided the stoutness that plagued men of a certain age. His expression was harsh, but every so often it would slip into an intense focus that wrung her heart with its familiarity. This was why she'd avoided looking at Fleming over much in all her years of playing Orwell. She despised him for what he'd done, for what he was doing. He was the enemy, the single, sole reason that Palm City was effectively a city-state controlled by a tyrant. She could hate him with a fervor and intensity that no one else could match, not Max, not Dana, not even Vince, who had lost so much at the hands of this monster. But if she ever came to him, face to face... in her secret heart-of-hearts, she knew that her father could call her to his side, and she would come.

_Aw, look who's missing Daddy. Come through the door, and you and your father will never be estranged..._

"Back off," she muttered, and then almost whimpered when Max took his steadying hand away. To cover her gaff, she rewound the vid a short way, paying attention to what was said and looking for ways to use it to their advantage.

It was going to be ridiculously easy. Even if no one believed her father's implicit admission that he was, in fact, the psychotic killer he'd tricked the public into believing was Vince, there was no denying that he was a kidnapper, a thug, and that he had serious mental issues. That little scene with the dais and chair that must have played so well for him in that setting would look like a king's throne to the average viewer, and she knew that Americans raised to believe in freedom, patriotism, and the inherent nobility of the common man would bristle over the display. Add to that the kidnapping of a child and his treatment of Dana, and the public would be eating out of her hand. If anyone knew how to manipulate the media, it was Orwell.

"This is going to destroy him," she said in a low voice.

Max's hand was back on her shoulder. "It's not easy."

She snorted. "Of course it will be. Fleming wrote his own execution order with this." The name, as always, felt odd in her mouth.

"Which is why it won't be easy," he answered. "It should be hard to destroy your own father."

Orwell turned, eyes wide. "...how...?"

Max shrugged. "You know computers. I know people. You're very good, but there were clues."

"Does Vince...?"

"Nobody knows but me," he reassurred her. "There's one thing I don't know, though."

_He wants to know why. Why a daughter would turn against her father. What makes her such a monster? Why, why, why..._ the door laughed at her.

"What's that?" said Orwell, tightly, mentally marshalling her arguments and reasons.

"What's your name?"

It was so unexpected that she actually felt her spine uncoil in relief. Perhaps that was why she blurted out the truth. "Jaime. My name is Jaime. Jaime Fleming."

Max extended his hand and shook hers, solemnly. "It's good to meet you, Jaime Fleming."

_It's good to meet me, too. _She smiled, and the door retreated.


End file.
